


His Angel

by Sorryimnotthatkindofdoctor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blowjobs, Destiel - Freeform, First Time, Language, M/M, Smut, Unsafe Sex, male-on-male sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 21:51:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7009543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorryimnotthatkindofdoctor/pseuds/Sorryimnotthatkindofdoctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started with a name – Castiel. And now, there was so much more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Angel

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a first-time fic and because I really miss the hand-print on Dean’s shoulder, I decided to set this early on in the fourth season, definitely before the events with Anna and “On the Head of a Pin.” So Cas is definitely a bit more direct than in later seasons…
> 
> Teaser:
> 
> It had all started with a name. Castiel. A name to go with the odd buzzing sounds that made windows and mirrors break around him. A name to go with the sensation that made his ears bleed. A name that went with a being that obviously had the power to burn the eyes out of a human being just for looking on it.
> 
> Then he’d had a face. Not the face he’d expected. No black, red, yellow or even pink with purple polka-dot eyes. No sharp, pointy teeth. The man wore a trench coat, for Christ’s sake, Dean thought. He was the Clark Kent of the demonic world. Except that he wasn’t. Just a regular face on a regular body. A regular face on a regular body that had… wings? And was immune to every holy/religious symbol Bobby could dream up, plus a few more. And wasn’t killed by salt, iron or even demon-bitch Ruby’s magic knife. 
> 
> He was the Clark Kent of the angelic world.

It had all started with a name. Castiel. A name to go with the odd buzzing sounds that made windows and mirrors break around him. A name to go with the sensation that made his ears bleed. A name that went with a being that obviously had the power to burn the eyes out of a human being just for looking on it.

Then he’d had a face. Not the face he’d expected. No black, red, yellow or even pink with purple polka-dot eyes. No sharp, pointy teeth. The man wore a trench coat, for Christ’s sake, Dean thought. He was the Clark Kent of the demonic world. Except that he wasn’t. Just a regular face on a regular body. A regular face on a regular body that had… wings? And was immune to every holy/religious symbol Bobby could dream up, plus a few more. And wasn’t killed by salt, iron or even demon-bitch Ruby’s magic knife. 

He was the Clark Kent of the angelic world.

During their first few meetings or any conversations concerning him, Dean just called him Castiel. He refused to call him an angel on principle. What kind of angel would save his sorry ass from a parking ticket, let alone hell? But eventually, he’d given in. Found religion, to a certain extent. Then he’d called him THE angel or Castiel. Strictly business.

But at some point, Castiel had become Cas. Dean had tried to tell himself it was just because he was tired of all the weird looks he got from people whenever he called the angel by his full name in public. What kind of name was Castiel, anyways? Cas was easier, and it definitely yelled better when he was pissed off. But it didn’t mean he liked the angel. 

Even if it did mean exactly that.  
Dean refused to admit it to himself, but as annoying as the holy tax accountant was, Dean liked him. He might not offer a straight answer 9.9995 times out of 10, but he at least didn’t bullshit him. Cas didn’t offer lies. He spoke freely and always let Dean know exactly where he stood. 

True, he talked an awful lot about how Dean was worthy of love and salvation, about how hope and faith were not just silly fascinations of an indifferent public that just didn’t know what really lived in the darkness and crawled about under their beds after they went to sleep. But he never told Dean it would be okay. He never promised survival or stability. He just stated his purpose, his mission, and stuck to it. That was something Dean could live with.

Gradually, Cas stopped being just the angel and became his angel. This transformation often freaked Dean out more than anything else about his current situation. Because things that he owned never seemed to last long. His family was down to just Sammy now, and well – Dean didn’t want to think about how that was going. His car had been smashed and crashed and muddied and bloodied. Sometimes Dean thought that the only reason it was still drivable was that he just refused to accept a reality in which it was out of commission for long. 

So he was leery of calling Cas his angel, but he couldn’t really help but think it. Perhaps it was some lingering connection from Castiel pulling him out of hell. Or perhaps it was the simple fact that Cas was the only one of the holier-than-thou garrison that came and talked to him like a person. Uriel tagged along at times, but he never really seemed to like Dean, or Sam, or any human for that matter. So it was difficult to think of Uriel as being in any way his. But Cas – he was there to talk. He was there to fight and bind wounds. He was there just to sit in silence and keep Dean from being alone with his thoughts of Hell. And he didn’t have to hide from Cas. The angel had pulled him from the pit – he’d seen what Dean had become; knew all the dirty secrets, and stayed anyway. So Dean began to think of Cas as his angel – not necessarily a guardian angel or even a friend. But Cas fit in his life like his car, like Bobby, like Sam – something that was his. 

And then one night, Dean had simply had too much. He and Sam had saved the day, prevented the loss of another seal, but they hadn’t been able to save the ten year old boy who’d tried to warn his parents about the creepy smoke man that lived in his closet. Sam had gone off to do whatever it was Sam did since he’d lived four months alone with his brother in hell and Dean had decided that drinking was the best answer to his problems. It didn’t require him to think and he knew he was good at it. The numbness was just a plus. Three hours later had found him on his knees in an alleyway behind a bar, clutching at his stomach as he lost the majority of the liquor he’d been putting away since arriving.

Then Cas had shown up, looking unruffled and calm as always, even as Dean vomited dangerously close to his shoes. The details were still somewhat fuzzy (throwing up does not take away the effects of several shots of Jack Daniels and Everclear after all), but the next thing Dean remembered was Castiel laying him down on the rough blankets of his motel bed. Cas’ fingers had scratched at his scalp as they ran through his hair, pulling a gentle moan from Dean, followed by the soft, dry brush of Cas’ lips on his forehead, and a soft murmur of “sleep.”

And sleep he had. Deeply, and without nightmares. Whether that was a result of the liquor or literally having an angel watch over him, Dean wasn’t sure.

*** 

That started a new pattern, one that Dean didn’t necessarily spend too much time trying to analyze. Castiel had always seemed a bit handsy when it came to Dean after all – a touch to the shoulder, standing way too close – but now he practically lived inside Dean’s skin. At first Dean just thought it was a lack of understanding about personal space, but Cas had no trouble standing apart from Sam and not touching him every five seconds. Every now and then, Dean figured that he should be more upset about his new personal shadow, but he had been in hell for forty years, and it felt damned good to have someone touch his body for something other than to cause him pain. So that’s what it was.

Except it wasn’t.

Dean found himself thinking about the angel more often than not. Imagining what it would feel like to pull Cas against him, feel the unnatural heat that burned within his vessel’s body. To feel the dry brush of Cas’ lips again across his forehead, down his cheek. To have Cas slot his hand over the scar that marred his shoulder. The raised flesh always had a low-level tingle, but whenever Castiel touched it, even through his jacket or t-shirts, it buzzed down to his bones. Dean often wondered if the angel were ever to touch the scar, flesh on flesh, whether it would burn.

From there it wasn’t really that far a stretch for Dean to start imagining Cas doing other things to him. The elder Winchester had no illusions – it had only happened a few times, but he’d been attracted to men before. So the first time that Dean had thought about Cas’ slightly chapped lips wrapped around his cock while he jerked off in the shower, he had just closed his eyes and gone with it. He’d already been to hell once – he figured mentally defiling an angel wasn’t any more likely than most of the other stuff he’d done to get himself sent there again.

And it wasn’t like he planned on acting on his desires, anyway. Dean knew better than to expect Castiel to respond well to being told that he was a frequent guest star in Dean’s shower fantasies.

***  
As it turned out, Castiel responded very well.

Dean and Sam found themselves in a small town in Oklahoma working on a case. They’d been there for almost 3 days without making any real headway, which was why Sam was currently out trying to track down some leads at the local library. Dean had opted to stay at the hotel and sort out the laundry. The motel they were at actually had a little kitchenette in the room with a good sized sink, so he figured they could save some cash instead of going to a laundromat. Not to mention avoiding having to come up with an explanation as to why several of their shirts were covered in blood, guts, or other supernatural ephemera.

The green-eyed man stood shirtless at the sink, a pair of worn jeans riding low on his hips as he plunged his hands deep into the soapy water to scrub at a stain on one of Sam’s shirts – coffee, he thought – and let his mind wander. As it often did, his mind brought up Castiel and Dean shifted his weight as his body so helpfully reminded him that he hadn’t had time or opportunity to indulge in fantasy lately. Dean had just decided to let the shirt soak – maybe it wasn’t coffee, after all – and take advantage of Sam’s absence when he heard the slight flutter of wings behind him.

“Hello Dean,” Castiel said, his voice as deep and commanding as ever. Dean absolutely had not imagined that voice telling him to drop to his knees. Nope. Not even once. Dean grunted as he willed his body not to respond to the angel’s presence and kept scrubbing at the shirt.

“Hey Cas.” When the angel didn’t say anything else, Dean looked at him over his shoulder. The angel was, as ever, dressed in his white shirt, trench coat, and blue tie that never seemed to lay flat. “You got news about Lilith?”

“No.”

“Is what’s happening here another seal?” Dean asked, straightening and starting to turn more towards Castiel.

“No,” Cas said again, and then offered nothing further. Dean hummed thoughtfully and waited a few more seconds, but nothing else came. 

“Ok,” he said, turning back and adding more soap to the sink. “Well, not to make you feel unwelcome, but why are you here then?” Dean asked as he scrubbed at the shirt with renewed vigor. 

“You called me,” Castiel answered, his voice flat. Dean heard the angel shift slightly on the thin motel carpet. Dean easily pictured Cas, with his head cocked ever so slightly to the left like it always was when he answered a question he thought had an obvious answer.

“I didn’t call you,” Dean said, scrubbing harder at the stain. Maybe it was maple syrup…

“Yes, you did.”

“Pretty sure I didn’t,” Dean shot back almost before the angel finished his sentence.

“You were thinking about me,” Castiel said quietly. Dean stopped scrubbing and looked over his shoulder.

“How the hell do you know that?” the hunter asked, squinting at the angel when the only response he got was a half-smile. He mentally slapped himself. “I mean, no I wasn’t.” Dean felt the blush crawling up his chest and into his face. He cleared his throat loudly and looked at his bare feet. “Are you, uh, are you telling me you can read minds?” He chanced a glance up at Castiel.

Who merely looked back at him.

“You can read my mind?” Dean’s voice went up slightly at the end of his question. Again, just a look in response. Dean rapidly did his best to clear his thoughts as he turned back to the sink. He looked down at the shirt and wondered if it, like his self-respect, was beyond saving at this point. He rubbed the pad of a finger over the stain. Perhaps it was ectoplasm? 

Dean felt the pull of air in the room that told him Cas had used his angel mojo to move and he snapped up straight. Castiel was directly behind him now, once again almost too close for comfort. Or perhaps not close enough, if Dean’s dick had any say in the matter. Dean firmly told his body to calm down and then froze, wondering if the angel had heard that thought. The shirt dropped onto the counter with a small squelch. 

“I can’t read your mind, Dean,” the angel said quietly. “Not exactly, but I can sense you. I know when you need me.”

“That one of your freaky angel powers?” Dean asked, his mind getting hung up on what exactly Castiel had meant by “need me.” 

“In a way,” Castiel answered. And then one of Cas’ hands was on Dean’s shoulder, the tip of one long finger dangerously close to the matching length of the hand-shaped scar. Dean shivered, unable to stop himself and he felt the muscles in his stomach jump at the contact.

“Dean, you didn’t get this mark when I raised you from hell,” Cas said, and Dean tensed under his hand. “You didn’t have an earthly body there. This is where I drew all the death and injury from your flesh and injected your soul back into your body. It is a connection now between you and I. I am marked upon your soul, and your flesh is seared into my being. As such, I can feel you.”

Dean was silent as he gritted his teeth against the buzzing in his skin. He thought back – had he felt a connection? Not at first, that was for sure. He’d been convinced the being wearing the meat suit of a mild-mannered tax accountant was some powerful demon who’d brought him back out of some kind of weird, demonic office politics.

“How come I can’t feel you?” he finally asked.

“You can,” Castiel replied, “just not in the same way. It’s like how you can’t see or hear me in my true form. The connection is beyond your regular perception.”

“So you can feel me, but I don’t get to play?” said Dean, mentally slapping himself again at how the sentence had come out.

“Yes,” answered the angel.

“Not fair, dude,” Dean muttered, staring at the cabinets in front of him. He thought about turning around, but Castiel was already speaking again.

“At first, the connection was low. I could feel when you needed me,” Castiel said. “When you were in grave peril or pain, and I would come to you.” 

“Bold Ridge?” Dean asked suddenly, speaking of a small town in Nevada where he and Sam had taken out a nest of angry, hairy little creatures called Cooleys that had very sharp teeth and liked to bite. It had been the first regular job he and Sam had taken on after Dean had been brought back. The first regular job that didn’t involve fate and destiny and angels and any other freaky shit that Dean hadn’t really wanted to deal with. They’d both been severely bitten and for a moment Dean had believed they’d bleed to death in an abandoned warehouse when Castiel had shown up and helped them back to the hotel where he healed their wounds.

“Yes,” said Castiel. “And Warkshire, and Antigone and Pueblo Verte,” he continued, each place named recalling a memory for Dean where Castiel had suddenly shown with impeccable timing, but with seemingly no cause to be there.

“Huh,” Dean said, wondering why he’d never questioned the angel’s appearance before. At the time, he supposed he was just grateful, but still.

“As I spent more time with you,” Castiel continued as if he’d never been interrupted, “the connection grew stronger. I could feel when you thought of me – not necessarily when you needed me, but when you had questions or doubts. You would think of me and, if possible, I would come.”

“I knew it,” Dean said, surprising himself. True, Castiel had not always shown up when he’d really wanted or needed to talk to the angel, but on the times that he had, Dean suddenly realized that he had known the angel was coming. He’d turned around and not been shocked or surprised to see him standing there, hair mussed, coat hanging loosely around his thin frame. 

Dean turned around now biting his lip as, instead of dropping his hand away, Cas simply let it trail across his back and then down, letting his fingers lightly trace the musculature of Dean’s chest. Dean cleared his throat. “That connection-beyond-my-perception thing?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “And now, I know every time you think of me. For whatever reason.” Cas stared at Dean as the hunter shifted somewhat uncomfortably, leaning back further into the counter and out of the angel’s space.

“For any reason? Every time?” Dean asked, slightly embarrassed. He thought about Castiel a lot. It was one thing to fantasize about the guy when he had no intentions of telling him. It was a whole other thing to find out that Cas just might have known every time Dean imagined it was the angel’s fingers or lips wrapped around his cock when he jerked off.

“Yes, Dean. Every time,” he continued. Cas looked at Dean, forcing the hunter to hold his gaze as he shifted minutely, angling his body forward into Dean’s. The taller man swallowed and put his wet hands on the cabinet behind him, clenching his fingers around the old formica.

“But it’s not just your thoughts, anymore,” Cas said, his voice dropping. For a split second, Dean flashed back to the moment in Bobby’s house when the angel had all but pinned him to the counter and growled “you should show me some respect.” Dean wasn’t terribly proud of the fact that that moment had often found its way into this spank bank as he imagined various ways the angel could teach Dean to respect him, and he didn’t really want to consider what it said about him. 

“The connection’s deeper now, and there is no place that I cannot feel it.” Cas raised a hand and lightly grabbed onto Dean’s arm, just below the elbow. Dean held his breath as Castiel’s thumb rubbed slow circles along the veins of the inside of his arm. “Whether I am on earth or in my Father’s house, I know you, feel you. I can feel your thoughts, hear your heartbeat.” Cas pressed his thumb into Dean’s arm before leaning in close and whispering, “I can smell you.”

“Whoa,” said Dean, slightly taken aback. “Is that your not-so-subtle angel way of telling me I should take a shower more often?”

“I can smell your desire for me,” the angel said, before pushing his head over to the side and placing a slight kiss to the thumb of the scar that stretched out over Dean’s shoulder and ended at the edge of his collarbone.

Dean stiffened and bit his lip, his hands clenching on the countertop so tightly he thought he might crack the surface of it. Just as he’d figured, the slight buzz of his scar erupted in a fire across his flesh that went straight to his gut. 

“Cas,” he gasped as the angel flicked his tongue out to touch the scar again. Dean took a deep breath and released it slowly. He’d been aroused since he’d first started thinking about Castiel, and now his flesh was crawling across his bones with every touch of the angel’s fingers or tongue on his shoulder.

“You have no idea,” Castiel murmured, pulling back and bringing up his other hand to rest on Dean’s hip, his fingers splayed out over the bare skin above the waistband of his jeans. Dean grunted and tried to stop the jerk of his hips towards Cas but only half succeeded. “No idea how many times I have had to basically shut off my awareness of you, Dean Winchester. Had to keep myself from simply appearing at your side, stripping you of your clothes and fucking you senseless.”

Dean froze as a flash of heat and desire swept through him. The angel cursed. He probably shouldn’t find that as hot as he did, but damn it… 

“I kept waiting,” Cas said, slowly inching himself into Dean’s space even further, the hand at his waist sliding around Dean’s back, “waiting for you to call my name. To make a move, I believe is how you would put it.” Cas’s body was slotted against Dean’s hips now, one thigh pressed between Dean’s legs and the hunter felt the answering hardness of Castiel’s cock against his own thigh.

Dean’s hands came up of their own volition, one hand landing on the loosened knot of Cas’ tie while the other bunched up in the sleeve of the trench coat as he tried to mirror Cas’ grip on his own arm. He watched as the fabrics grew damp with the last of the soapy water on his fingers.

“And then I became impatient.” Cas rocked his hips forward, his blue eyes now dark with lust as Dean groaned at the feeling of the angel’s desire. “I have existed for millennia, and watched over earth for the last 2,000 years, Dean Winchester,” the angel said. “And you are the first being to ever make me impatient.”

“Sorry?” Dean said, his voice rising up at the end to make the apology into a question. He figured he probably should be sorry, but the feel of the angel against him just wasn’t going to let that happen.

“As you should be,” Cas answered, his voice dropping even lower. Dean wrapped the blue tie around his fingers and used the feel of it to anchor his thoughts that were drowning in the rising tide of his lust.

“In my defense,” he started, shuttering as Castiel moved his hand up to hover over the scar, “I didn’t really think you’d be interested. I mean, how was I to know you even knew what sex was?”

“I have walked this earth for over 2,000 years,” Cas repeated, finally slotting his hand onto the scar itself and gripping tight. Dean bucked against Castiel’s hips, feeling the heat and the fire, the power of the other being as it surged through his scar. “I am well versed in the art of sex.” 

“Fuck,” Dean breathed out quietly, his entire body thrumming with heat. He used his grip on Castiel’s tie to pull him forward until the shorter man’s lips were merely inches away. He froze, staring into the angel’s eyes for a moment before his own slid closed and he pressed forward, letting his lips rest against Castiel’s. The angel had no such hesitation. Instead, he pressed forward, holding Dean firmly with the arm around his back and fused their mouths together. 

Dean quickly got with the program, bringing a hand up to grip Cas’ hair and angle his head so that Dean could deepen the kiss. When Cas groaned in appreciation, Dean’s tongue shot out, licking his way inside the angel’s mouth. Dean ran the tip of his tongue over the flat of the other man’s teeth before pushing in further, feeling Cas’ own tongue as he licked at the roof of Castiel’s mouth.

“You taste so fucking good,” Dean murmured as Castiel broke the kiss and dropped his head down to suck a wet mark into the skin behind Dean’s ear. The angel began to kiss and nip his way along Dean’s neck down to his collarbone. He gently gnawed at the skin that connected Dean’s shoulder to his neck before angling his attention to Dean’s shoulder. The taller man hissed as Cas began to lick stripes up each raised finger of the hand-shaped scar on Dean’s flesh.

“Shit,” Dean yelped as the fire in his skin burned hotter. “Do you have any idea what that feels like?” he gasped. Castiel paused and licked his lips as he looked up and caught Dean’s green gaze with his own. Slowly, he rolled his hips, forcing his thigh to press up against Dean’s groin. Dean’s own hips stuttered forward in appreciation of the friction. His arousal was nearing the point of pain as it pressed against the zipper of his jeans.

“Yes. I know exactly what it does to you,” Cas said. Dean saw desire in the angel’s eyes, but more than that, he saw the raw feeling that he felt in his own skin.

“Freaky angel connection thing?” he breathed. Castiel nodded. “So it’s good for you, too?” Dean asked, feeling slightly left out for a moment that there was nothing he could do to make the angel flip like having his scar touched did for him. Castiel merely reached up and pulled one of Dean’s hands down until it covered the hardness at the angel’s groin. Cas groaned as Dean cupped him, his fingers pressing and stroking at the hard length.

“It’s beyond good,” Castiel said, leaning down to lick at another finger mark on Dean’s flesh. Dean groaned, rocking his hips forward so that his erection ground down on Castiel’s thigh.

“Outstanding,” he said, before bringing both hands up to work Castiel’s tie loose and then the buttons of his shirt. With minor help from Castiel, Dean got the angel’s shirt open and dropped both hands to Cas’ chest, spreading palms out across the warm expanse. Dean pushed his hands up and over Castiel’s shoulders, moving the shirt and trench coat with them so that they slid off of the angel’s body to land in a wrinkled pile at their feet. Both men groaned with appreciation as their upper bodies met, skin to skin. 

Dean pushed at Cas’ shoulders, moving him backward until they were across the room and Cas allowed Dean to push him down to sit on the end of the bed. Before Dean could move further, the angel was gripping his hips and mouthing at the soft flesh of Dean’s belly. Dean groaned and fisted his hands in Cas’ hair, barely resisting the urge to push his head down further to let it mouth along the line of his cock. 

Somehow, Dean managed to push himself away enough to drop between Cas’ spread legs. He quickly removed the angel’s shoes and socks, then worked on undoing the belt and pants, pulling them down and off Castiel’s legs. Dean licked his lips as he looked at the angel’s cock, tenting the plain white boxers and dampening the fabric with his arousal. Dean hooked his fingers in the waistband of Cas’ underwear and pulled until it was down just below his sack, letting the elastic nudge the other’s hardness up and away from his body.

“Dean,” the angel keened, and Dean petted at his stomach as he scooted further between his legs.

“Don’t worry,” Dean said, before he licked at his palm and reached down to grasp Castiel’s cock. He gave several short strokes, twisting his palm over the leaking tip and gathering the angel’s wetness there before spreading it out over his length again. Cas gasped, curving his body forward and over where Dean was nosing at the crease of his thigh. The angel whispered his name again, reaching out to touch the scar on his shoulder. Dean’s grip clenched tight around Castiel’s length and he expelled a hot, wet breath over the other’s groin.

Not having the will to draw it out too long, Dean quickly gripped the base of Castiel’s cock and settled his mouth over the wide head. He pressed his tongue under the ridge and barely scraped his teeth along the vein that ran up the underside of the angel’s cock. One of Castiel’s hands settled on his head, fingers clenching and unclenching in his short hair. Dean began to suck the angel down in earnest, enjoying the heavy weight of Cas’ cock on his tongue.

“Dean,” Cas said again, his hips bucking forward and Dean gagged slightly as the head hit the back of his throat. He pulled off but continued to stroke with his hand.

“Wanna fuck you, Cas,” he said, his voice rough. Castiel closed his eyes and nodded. Dean watched a bead of sweat roll down the side of the angel’s neck and leaned forward to lap it up. He pushed until Castiel was laying back on the bed and then quickly got up to get some lotion from his bag. When he came back, Cas had already removed his boxers and was naked and spread out over the bed. Dean crawled up beside the angel and began placing wet, open mouthed kisses to the broad expanse of his chest.

Cas rolled his body into him, hands making short work of getting Dean’s jeans undone before sliding inside the denim and past the cotton boxers to stroke his length. Dean dropped his head to chest, eyes hooded as he watched the delicate curve of the angel’s wrist turn and twist inside his jeans, feeling the catch of his soft palm along the length of his cock.

Dean stood up and shucked out of his jeans and underwear before kneeling back on the bed. He situated himself between Castiel’s legs, grinning as the angel allowed his knees to fall open even further while Dean palmed himself. Dean squirted some lotion onto his fingers and leaned down to lick a stripe up the angel’s cock while his hand went down, below Cas’ balls, searching and stroking down until he felt the slight pucker of the angel’s entrance.

“Yes,” Cas groaned, his hips raising and legs widening. Dean leaned up to scrape his teeth along the edge of Castiel’s ribcage as the angel drew in a breath. Slowly, he circled his finger around the tightened skin before slipping the tip inside. Cas’ body shook as Dean prepared him, moving as quickly as he dared from one to two fingers. He knew that he probably couldn’t actually hurt the angel, but he wanted this to be good. He wanted Cas to feel as good as he did.

“Dean, please,” Cas groaned as Dean slid a third finger inside, his wrist pushing the digits deep into the angel’s body. Dean crooked his fingers, searching and knew when he’d found the angel’s prostate when Castiel’s eyes shot open, the blue of them all but swallowed up by the blown pupils.

Dean pulled his fingers out and Cas rocked his hips at the feeling of emptiness. Dean shuffled forward between his legs, stroking more lotion down his cock to make sure there was no resistance when he paused and met Castiel’s gaze.

“Um, do I need a condom?” Castiel merely raised an eyebrow and Dean mentally slapped himself again. “Oh, right. Angel. You’re probably as clean as it gets.” Cas’ smile was filthy as he reached down to stroke his own cock. A small pearl of cum gleamed from the tip of Cas’ cock and he flicked it with his thumb, causing it to land on his taught stomach. 

“Do I look clean, Dean Winchester?” Castiel asked. Dean shuttered and gripped the base of his own dick. In reply, he merely grabbed under Cas’ knees and pulled, dragging the other man closer to him and draping his legs over Dean’s thighs. Cas continued to stroke himself as Dean lined up his cock and pushed forward. 

“Oh fuck,” Dean groaned as the head of his cock slid inside. Cas hissed and arched his back, using his legs to wrap around Dean’s waist and continue to pull him in closer. Dean slowly slid all the way inside, only stopping when he felt Cas’ balls flatten against his pubic bone. Dean held still, adjusting to the tight feeling of heat and allowing Cas’ body to adjust to his presence within it. Dean shifted slightly, leaning down and forward so that he was crouched over the angel and Castiel moved accordingly, angling his hips up so that Dean stayed fully seated inside him.

Dean drew himself out and slid back in, slow and steady, for a few strokes before Cas reached up and slotted his fingers into place over the scar. The lightning blast of heat and desire that touch brought caused Dean to slam his hips forward into Castiel, drawing a moan from the angel.

“Yes, more, please,” Cas huffed, his skin shiny with sweat. Dean leaned down, trapping Cas’ cock between their bellies and began to move quickly, each stroke dragging the head of his cock over that special spot of pleasure within Cas’ body. Dean reached an arm under the angel and looped his hand over his shoulder to provide better leverage as he widened his knees and slid deeper and harder with each stroke.

Castiel’s voice was soft, offering both praise and pleading to Dean’s ears as the hunter licked his way up the angel’s breastbone to nip at the straining tendons of his neck. Dean responded eagerly, fucking into Cas as hard as he could as he felt the tight draw in his belly that signaled his release.

“Come on, Cas,” he said, reaching a hand between them to stroke the angel’s cock. “Come on – fuck – come on.” Dean’s words were broken as he whispered them into the sweat on Castiel’s skin, but the angel heard. Cas grunted and suddenly Dean felt Cas go still and silent beneath him before he was shaking. Long stripes of heat painted their bellies as Cas came, his cock twitching as Dean fucked him through it. Dean pistoned his hips faster and faster until the room went dark at the edges of his vision and he was spilling into the slick heat of Castiel’s body. The two men lay still, breath fanning out over cooling flesh, before they got up and began to clean themselves. 

By the time Sam came back to the motel a few hours later, there wasn’t any evidence that Castiel had even been there or that anything had happened, except for the loose strut of Dean’s walk and slightly damp laundry draped over the countertops.

*** 

And that’s when Castiel truly became HIS angel. Well not “his” like he’d given the other man a ring or anything. It wasn’t really a relationship. If anything, it was an arrangement.

Sometimes, when the world hurt too much and became like hell, Castiel would come and Dean would lose himself in the angel’s touch. As Cas pumped into him, with Dean’s legs wrapped tight around the angel’s waist, his heels digging into the small of Castiel’s back, the world went away and he felt no pain, no anger, and no sorrow. 

Other times, Dean would turn and find Castiel sitting on the edge of his bed, his shoulders drooping low. Even when there wasn’t any blood on him, Dean would still see the angel covered in it – demonic remnants or the death of his fellow angels would cling to Castiel, staining his face as obviously as blood on snow. And Dean would kiss every inch of the angel, bathing him clean and taking the hurt away. Castiel would groan, fisting his hands in the bed sheets as Dean rode him from behind, driving out all the pain and worry and loss with each thrust, even if only for a little while.

As a lover, Castiel had his quirks and perks, just like everyone. Cas liked to talk dirty when their sex was hurried – he knew it was a way to start Dean off and, Dean suspected, also let the angel feel a little more wanton and free. At first, it had startled him, hearing phrases like “fuck yes!” or “so fucking good,” spill from an angel’s lips, but then he had just accepted it. Cas was his angel, after all. How else should he speak?

Most times it was quick and quiet when Sam was out. Other times, Dean would catch a glimpse of the angel through the hotel window and make up an excuse to head out. They didn’t really talk before or after. Talking wasn’t what they were good at. They kissed, they held, they fucked – that was what they were good at. That was what helped, what felt good. What they needed. No messy aftertaste of uncertain relationships, because there was no relationship.

Except there was.

One time, about a month after the night in the alley, when the angel came to tell Dean that he and Sam had indeed stopped Lilith from opening one of her chosen seals, Dean had reached out, grabbed Castiel’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss. It had just felt right. Another time, Dean had been the happy recipient of a neck rub after sitting in front of Sam’s laptop for six hours doing pointless research. Then Dean had bought Castiel a new shirt after ruining the angel’s seemingly only other shirt by spewing coffee all over it while laughing because the angel had caught him off guard by making a joke. And so it went. Just little things here and there. Moments spent with one another that had nothing to do with Sam or Lilith or Lucifer or seals. Just them.

The first time they made love – actually made love, not just some quick fuck against the back of the Impala behind some trees on a back road or a blowjob behind another skeevy motel – had been intense and slightly awkward. It wasn’t that they didn’t know how to touch one another, but it felt strange not having the urgency of relief behind it. They’d been sitting in the hotel watching a re-run of “Sex in the City,” of all things, when Dean noticed that Castiel kept staring at his arms. Dean had stripped down to an old, somewhat faded wife-beater because the air conditioning in the hotel sucked, and his arms, complete with the hand-shaped scars Castiel had given him, were bare. He’d watched Cas’ gaze move to his arms, outlining his muscles and the scar before snapping back to the screen. 

Dean had tried focusing on the plot, but he couldn’t really detect much of a plot to focus on. So then he tried just focusing on Samantha’s tits, which was why he had stopped on this channel in the first place. Then he noticed that he was staring at Cas’ mouth. Every time that Cas started looking at the hunter’s arms, he’d lick his lips. The angel would run his tongue over his bottom lip and then shake his head a bit before focusing elsewhere. Dean watched as Cas watched him, over and over again. Look, lick, look away, and Dean had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning.

Then Castiel shifted on the bed, ever so slightly. Dean watched from the corner of his eye. Inch by inch, Dean watched as Castiel slowly allowed himself to relax so that his back was touching the headboard of the bed. Then the bed shifted again and Dean felt the angel’s shoulder brush his own – the touch was electric. Soon after that, Dean had no clue whether or not Sarah Jessica Parker had actually found the perfect pair of stiletto heels to wear to her second cousin’s fourth wedding. And he really didn’t give a fuck because Cas was wrapped around him, groaning as they gradually began to discover each other anew, realizing that what felt good when they were humping each other like bunnies on crack felt abso-fucking-lutely amazing when they went slow.

After that, Dean stopped trying to puzzle it out and just went with it. His angel would still come when Dean got lost in the hell of the world, or when the world hurt too much and he needed Dean to make it go away. But his angel would also come on rare, quiet mornings when there was no urgency, or slow afternoons when Dean was waiting for the angels to tell him what to hunt and Cas was waiting for the angels to tell him what to say. They would kiss and touch and hold one another, slow and easy. Sometimes, Cas would release his wings and Dean would feel the feather-light touches against his bare shoulders and hips, tickling slightly as Castiel cocooned himself and his lover within the feathery embrace. It made the world go away more than any of their quick fucking had ever done when he was surrounded by Cas’ wings like that. Everything stopped but the feeling of slick, heavy sweat; the puff of Castiel’s breath against his ear; the hot, thick ropes of cum lying on their stomachs. There weren’t any demons or seals or omens or memories of blood and hell. There wasn’t any sunshine or air or ice cream or pie. All there was this – his angel.

Dean wasn’t sure if his angel could move mountains or not, but he could damn sure make the world go away. And for now, Dean was good with that.

END


End file.
